Sing For Me
by teaandcharcoalforbreakfast
Summary: America approaches England for sex while he's doing laundry. As coitus ensues, England makes a sap out of himself and demonstrates how deeply he's in love in spite of himself. Fill from Kink meme.


**A/N:** Is it just me, or do none of my fills actually seem to be about what the prompt really is? Maybe they're just the stories that want to be written that I'm too lazy to frame myself...

Request was sex on a washing machine

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><p>England could deal with the fact that America wanted him to help with some of the chores. After all, he was going to be staying for a whole month so it was only fair. He was mildly irritated when he found out that America had left his laundry to stockpile for weeks and still expected him to do it. He was down right pissed when America came up behind him while he was loading the washing machine for the millionth time and began molesting his ear.<p>

"Will you get off of me?" he demanded, shaking him off.

"Come on, England, we've been working all day and you've done a great job. Why don't we just relax for a while and have some fun?"

"America I am not in the mood for this sort of nonsense."

"I'll get you in the mood," He rubbed himself on England.

"Are you drunk, boy?" England shoved him away, "Besides, we're in your laundry room, we can't have sex here!"

"I'm not drunk, just horny." He grabbed England and rubbed against him again, "Besides, how many times have I let you fuck me when I was trying to play video games? Now I _want _you to fuck me right here, right now."

He had to admit that America had a point on that one, "Just because you're always ready for sex doesn't mean I am. I'm not as young as you are and-"

"England, you're twenty-three. And I don't think you're really gonna refuse anyway," He pulled the neck of England's t-shirt and began to suck on his shoulder.

"I _am_ refusing!" England insisted, wrapping his hands around the edge of the washing machine.

"Nope," America said, pulling away, "You wanna know how I know?"

"I'm curious as to what I'm doing that's misled you, yes."

America put his mouth in England's ear as though he was about to tell him a carefully guarded secret, "If you meant it you wouldn't let me do this. When you mean it you'll tell me once and then after that you just shove me away. But now," his hands wrapped around England's waist, making him let out a choked noise, "You're standing here and taking it. You're blushing bright red."

"I- I don't want you to knock anything over," England said, scrambling for an explanation, "And I'm turning red because I'm angry."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense," America pulled away. England let out a sigh of relief. "But then explain this," He cupped England's crotch, "You're half way hard already."

"I can't help it. When you're touching me like that- It's just a natural reaction!"

"It's okay, England," America said, kissing his neck, "It's okay to want this. It's okay to want _me." _

"It's not that you're unattractive, idiot." He said, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. He broke away from America and turned to face him. And oh, God, that sad dejected look on his face… "But we're… laundry room…"

America must have sensed that he was winning, because he smiled and said, "So our clothes won't have far to go then." He moved his shirt out of the way to show off how his fingers were circling the button on his jeans.

And, of course, when England tried to look there his treacherous eyes went just a bit lower to stare at the ever-growing bulge in America's pants. He swallowed hard and said, "I'd better at least top."

"Hey, it's my washing machine. I'm the only one who gets to be fucked over it."

"Bloody idiot," England said, coming closer to kiss him.

America accepted, sucking England's tongue right into his mouth like usual. England's lips twitched up into a smile. That was just like him, taking charge even when he was submitting. Sometimes it disgusted him how much he loved every little thing America did.

It was also America who first reached between them and loosened England's trousers for him. Since he clearly couldn't lose to the man he was about to fuck, after undoing America's jeans England slid his hands under the waistband and around to cup America's pillow-soft ass. He gave him a little squeeze just for fun and America moaned quietly into his mouth. They broke the kiss for a moment to throw their shirts into the hamper with the rest of the dirty clothes but then they were back together, kissing and touching and sliding together. England shoved America's blue jeans to the ground and made his boxers follow not much later. America did the same thing to him and then pulled him close so that the entire lengths of their bodies were pressed together. Every now and then their cocks would bump each other and they would both groan and press even closer. But it wasn't enough. England still needed more.

"Alright," he said, pulling away, "Please tell me you remembered to bring lube." He didn't want to leave America's warm body, even for long enough to climb up to the master bedroom, but he also didn't want to use something like laundry detergent on the poor boy.

"Huh? Oh, right!" He leaned down to the jeans on the floor and pulled a bottle of lubricant out of his pocket. Probably to try to keep what he thought to be the mood going, he sauntered over to the washing machine and dangled the bottle out to England, "Come get me, big boy."

"You are so strange sometimes," England said, taking the bottle and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Sometimes?" America asked, turning around to bend over the top of the machine, "I'm not working hard enough."

"I was trying to be generous," England said. He set down the lube, "Now, are you ready?"

America rolled his eyes, "If I wasn't would I be giving you my sweet ass like this?" He swayed his hips back and forth to emphasize the point.

England grabbed him with his dry hand, "You practically jumped me earlier because you wanted sex, now you're messing around. Make up your mind!"

"Sex please," America said.

"Right, that's what I thought."

America sighed happily as England eased one finger into him.

"Your hands are warm," he said, "That's new. I like it."

"It's because I was doing laundry."

"How would that make your hands warm?"

England just put another finger in. He was pretty loose from the last night anyway. America moaned and rubbed back against England's fingers.

"Oh, there's my good little slut."

"Shaddup."

"You asked me to fuck you on a washing machine, America. Besides," He leaned down to nip America's ear, "You're _my _slut. I don't intend on sharing you with anyone."

"Doesn't that kind of ruin the point of being a slut?"

England sighed, "The concept of dirty talk is completely lost on you, isn't it?"

America laughed, "Nah, just felt like being a little shit."

"Why did you go with that instead of dick or something arse-related? I can do things with that."

"Cause I could," America said, turning back with a positively devilish grin on his face.

England rolled his eyes, "Well back to the point."

He slipped another finger in and set all three of them on harassing America's prostate. America moaned and arched into the touch. England stroked his side with his free hand.

"This is what I meant. You're so sexy when you want me. I love it."

He began to spread his fingers, always leaving one against America's prostate. America groaned and positively writhed against England's fingers.

"So beautiful, America," England breathed, "So fantastic.

Eventually, though, America seemed to settle. He put his head down on his crossed arms and looked back at England. His smile was sort of subdued, closed mouthed and small but nothing could dampen the happiness in his eyes, "I'm ready when you are."

"Alright then," England said, pulling away for just long enough to slick up his cock.

They both let out a soft moan as they slid together. England loved the way that America's walls closed around him, just snug enough to provide enough pressure but not so tight that England had to worry about him.

England gave him just a moment to adjust, knowing full well that he was ready anyway. He had to get some sort of vengeance on America for coercing him into this ridiculous situation. When he started moving, America started to let out more noises: little "mmm"s and "nnn"s and the occasional "Oh!" England frowned. He was being quiet. Far too quiet. As much of a hard time as England liked to give America about being too loud, he liked to hear him during sex better.

It was then that he noticed the control panel just above America's head.

"Oh, what's this?" He asked, ceasing his thrusts.

"What's what?" America asked nervously, stilling beneath him.

"It seems I loaded the washer and put soap in but forgot about starting it. Should we do that?"

"Hoo boy…" America looked positively ecstatic about the idea.

"I think we should," England smirked and hit the button to turn it on.

The result was immediate. America threw his head back and moaned. This time it wasn't one of those half-silenced ones. It was a real, deep, drawn out, foundation-shaking moan, the kind only America was capable of. England reveled in the beauty of it.

So much, in fact, that he forgot to start for a good three seconds.

America continued to make noise. When he wasn't moaning incoherently, he was shouting words. England let it sort of fade into the background. Instead of listening to each individual sound, he allowed himself to be swept up in the unique timber and arousing tone of America's voice.

"_God," _He thought, _"If only someone could teach him to sing on key! Maybe I should ship him off to Austria for some private lessons…" _

He was starting to see why America asked him to sing so often. Did America like the way he sounded as much as he liked how America sounded? Maybe he should be try to be more vocal during this sort of thing. But no, then it wouldn't sound natural and America would tease him and then they'd have to have one of those sappy moments and then-

"HEY, ENGLAND!"

England blinked and stopped, "Erm… yes?"

"Jeez, I've been calling you for like half a minute!"

"Um… If it's any consolation, I really _was _thinking about you."

"I wanna look at you."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, you should be. But please, I wanna be able to see you."

"How?"

"Get off for a sec."

England did as he was told. The air was cold and dry in comparison to America, not where he wanted to be at all, but he still stood there and watched as America clambered on top of the washing machine. Once he sat down, he leaned against the wall and spread his legs inviting England back over.

"This way I can keep an eye on you. Stop you from worrying so much."

England chose to ignore him in favor of sliding back inside.

This had never been his favorite position. No matter what surface his partner was sitting on, it always felt a bit awkward and not quite right. But then America went and wrapped his arms around him. England's head went right to America's chest and he heard his heart racing away beneath his ribs. He smelled the sweat and sex on his skin, felt the waves of heat rolling off of him, saw how pink he'd turned. And, oh, now that they were moving again he was moaning and shouting like before. England held his hips tight as he pounded into him. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing half as sexy in the whole world.

England wanted to bite. He wanted to badly to take some of that perfect, pink flesh in his teeth and mark America as his. But no, everyone already knew. The whole damn world already knew that America loved him and him only and no amount of oil or chocolate or whatever America wanted was going to change that.

Upon thinking that, a moan slipped out past England's lips. He tried to force the next one back but no, that wasn't fair. Not with the way that America was unabashedly proclaiming his love in a way far older than language. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to do the same. It felt quite good, actually, to let everything out. Besides, who would hear them? Who would judge them? America had already seen him stripped of more than his clothes.

Neither of them was going to last much longer. Not only could he feel it in his own body, but he sensed it in America as well. There was something in the way that his muscles clenched or his breathing hitched or maybe something even more minuscule than that. England tilted his head up so that he could watch America's face.

He always had the loveliest expressions, so bright and open.

When America noticed he was being watched he looked down and smiled through the haze of lust.

It was then that England noticed, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he was going to come and there was nothing he could do about it.

Desperately, he reached for America's cock, hoping to at least get him close before he finished. Thankfully, with the washing machine and probably America's will on his side he got America to come while he was in the middle of his orgasm. Thankful, he allowed himself to enjoy rest of that happy, sated feeling

At some point once his heart had started to come down, America reached down and began to caress England's hair. He was muttering something too soft to really understand. England allowed himself to just lean there and enjoy the voice more lovely than any music


End file.
